


Two Lonely Souls Living to the Rhythm of One Thumping Heart

by LesleyJean97



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Champions League Finale inspired, FC Bayern München, Fluff and Angst, German National Team, M/M, Modern AU, Strangers to Lovers, blabbering, garrulous me, this was supposed to be a one-shot but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesleyJean97/pseuds/LesleyJean97
Summary: 'After all, they were just two lonely souls zooming around the thumping heart of the city like lost dinghies drifting through waves. Had it not been for some turbulence, they might never have come across each other.'
Relationships: Thomas Müller/Manuel Neuer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I first had this cannon on the night of the Champions League Final (so that was around late August I think) but it took me three months to actually put it into words because I'd always find excuses to procrastinate...
> 
> It's still built on an alternate universe so you won't see Thomas and Manuel as what they are (like footballers). So it took me some time to figure out who could come into their place if in this case they were both spectators on the stand. I first considered Alisson and De Bruyne as feasible options but it still felt kinda odd. In the end I assumed Leon might do well if he were in Thomas' position and as for the goalkeeper I'd rather go with Sven cause hey he had proved he was good enough so that settled.
> 
> The descriptions about Gelsenkirchen is basically scratched from what I've learned in geography class and if anyone felt offended or hurt by the portrayal of the fans or your hometown just remember this was based on an alternate universe so don't take yourself into it. Anyway hope you enjoy reading it~(｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

Nine years have passed since he moved to this city, where dwelled more than one million residents, with roads ramifying and extending in all directions. The city, at the heart of which stood the grand, towering baroque buildings, was pretty much unlike where he came from. Gelsenkirchen was small and crammed. People were forced to fight for breathing spaces with their own houses under a small patch of sky. It was old, old enough that its name were often mentioned in history books and should people once set foot in its territory, somehow they could still smell the faint stench of the burning coals left in the memories of the fathers, even though the buildings all took on a fresh facelift. But otherwise it was a smart and loveable city. And what touched him most, what rubbed off on him, Manuel Neuer, a Gelsenkirchener born and bred, was how the natives indulged themselves in what they loved to the full and threw themselves into its frenzy heartily even though they had been so used to doing this for years.

The passion and love perpetuated within the family and went down even after generations. That explained why, for so many times, he saw parents take their kids to Auf Schalke on a Saturday night as though on a family picnic, just like what their parents had done years ago. It was the same story within his own family. When he was a little boy, he was also led by his father, as his father was once led by his own father, to enter the proud, dazzlingly-lit Auf Schalke Arena, which swelled with ear-splitting chants and reverberating stamps of tens of thousands of fans.

As time ticked by it became a habit, to switch on TV for a Schalke match on every weekend night, and it persisted even after he moved to Munich. Though it wasn’t as usual as it had been due to heavy work. Still, the enthusiasm ran in the blood while the passion for football was carried by an old, creased blue-and-white jersey. Manuel took that old jersey, which he had put on every time there was a home game, along with him to Munich, and hung it high against the whitewashed wall. Whenever he glimpsed at it, he had an illusion that the voices, the deafening calls in chorus, materialized from the old memories, echoing within the four walls.

Admittedly, he was not gifted with acute sensitivity but even with his mildly insensitive eyes, he somehow managed to notice that here in Munich things were different. It was not like people living here were not as enthusiastic and passionate as Gelsenkircheners when it came to football. Quite the opposite, just like that of the Gelsenkircheners, their love for football knew no bounds and could be seen from the billowing red-and-white flags adorning every corner of the city. Nonetheless there was a difference. People here were way more restrained, and seemed to be accustomed to victory that one might find their reaction to a goal was very much similar to what a kind teacher would show to his bright, well-behaved students, inclining his head with a gentle smile as he fondly applauded for what the kids had achieved.

But that was not the case with the Gelsenkircheners. They ranted and raved like a murder of annoying crows, bounced up and down on the stand and never sat still. Those who lived in the vicinity of the arena might hate them, but he, Manuel, adored that kind of raw emotion, that primitive impulse of passion burnt in their fiery eyes. Never did he see anything that was remotely close to that blazing passion ever since he left Gelsenkirchen.

 _Gelsenkirchen._ The name conjured up again and again in Manuel’s mind, as he darted a wistful look out of the window, to see the blurry streetlights dancing in and out of his view while he unseeingly sorted a stack of files out before stowed them into a drawer. Gelsenkirchen was his home, but now Munich was where he lived. And he led a rather good life here, living on a richly-paid job, even though the work was comparatively dull.

He heaved a heavy sigh, and pushed the drawer back after making sure that nothing important was left scattered elsewhere. Subconsciously, his eyes fell on a scrap of creased paper. It was the ticket to the Champions League final, which would be held in Allianz Arena five days later.

Manuel had been to Allianz Arena before. Several times, actually. Although it was a year ago since he’d been to there the last time, when he joined the others to see the grand duel between Bayern and Dortmund. Both sides were neck and neck and the final results only hinged on a shoot-out. Around him people threw their arms high up in the air every time the forwards dribbled the ball into the box but unlike what he remembered back when he was still at Gelsenkirchen, with his family, where people would hug and kiss the guy standing beside them whenever the players scored regardless of whether or not they actually knew each other, people here tended to remain a safety distance away from the strangers as they clapped and cheered in a rather courteous fashion. Here he felt like an outsider, even though they were on the same side, supporting the same team and wearing the jersey of same colors. Still, he didn’t belong here. While he was standing there, clustered by a mob of cheerful, shouting crowds, rigidly and clapping automatically, somehow he felt himself eaten by an onrush of loneliness.

 _Lonely. But where did that feeling come from? Because of the distance? The difference between the dialects? Or the attitude?_ Manuel racked his brain for every possible answer and at last opened his mind to the most prominent one – maybe it simply because he was always on his own after he moved here.

He quickly glanced around the room, totally unsurprised to find out that as always, he was the only one left in the office by now. Quite nonchalant and undisturbed, he tidied up the table and carefully tucked the ticket into the pocket before he switched off the light, and off he went alone into the warm, moist summer night, like a lost dinghy ghosting through streams of flashing headlights under the grim, starry sky.

Time ticked by in its own speed as ever but to Manuel it felt like a rush. As though in the blink of an eye – eyes closed, eyes open, and he was teleported to five days later, when the great clash between Bayern and PSG was in train. Looking out of the window, he could see the tiny pub crouching down in the street corner was deluged with people even though it was only four o’clock yet, and in came more people in flocks, their arms draped over their friends’ shoulders, chirping loudly. The façades of the buildings were adorned with poorly scrawled graffiti and huge banners in exhibition of support for Bayern. The only thing which didn’t fit, standing out against the vast red was a small patch of white and blue – a flag of TSV 1860, dangling weakly from the banister of the balcony on the top floor of a three-storey building across the street, whose owner hurriedly left for a travel two days ago.

For the following two hours or so Manuel did nothing but sprawled himself in the armchair, refreshing the news website every two minutes but having no intention to actually read anything that popped out. He just needed to keep himself busy to while away the time. But the reason why he felt the urge to keep himself busy, or, the motive behind this pointless act, was still a mystery to him. Strangely no vehemence came to him on the eve of such an exciting game – his feelings were not in sync with that of the whole city and his heartbeat was not in rhythm with that of any other living here; even the decision of booking the ticket to this match seemed to be an act of instinct, not after a second thought. Cause otherwise he wouldn’t even have booked it in the first place. _Because,_ he asked himself, _what have I expected from it?_ They might or might not win but either way it meant nothing to him. After 90 minutes everything would still be the same – going there alone, and heading back with no one in company but his own shadow.

The clock struck seven when there was a commotion breaking out somewhere in the heart of the city. Manuel could hear one or two vile curses that were unique to Bavarian dialects in the midst of throaty bellows of anger and quick, unintelligible French ramblings in the distance. Barely able to stifle a laugh, he dressed up swiftly before setting off, getting into the car and igniting it into motion following by a low, rumbling roar.

It was a twenty-minute drive to Allianz Arena, quite smooth and peaceful all the way there as he slowly drove northwards, to where dwelled a gleaming patch of bright red blur. No sooner had he left the parking lot than he found himself, all of a sudden, mobbed by a seething mass of shrieking fans, all dressed in red while brandishing the Bayern flags. He managed to nudge his way through them to get to the entrance before he was submerged by more and more people marching in herds.

Inside the stadium was a flurry of furiously vehement calls which was by no means less zealous than that of those waiting outside the arena. Shoulders hunched a little bit, Manuel edged through rows of seats. It took him some effort to get to where he was supposed to be seated owing to the excited fans who almost completely blocked the passageways. From where he was seated, he could have everything on the pitch in full view.

Blowing a whistle, he sunk back into the seat and darted a quick glance at the screen to see the countdown was in its final quarter. He could not fail to notice the guy sitting on the right, who was eagerly taking pictures of the every corner of the arena from every angle. _First time to the arena_ , thought Manuel, his lips twitching into a mild smile of understanding. The seat on the left side however, was left unoccupied, cause its owner, instead of sprawling comfortably in it, would rather stand. He only left a lanky silhouette to Manuel as he stood propping up against the rail, craning his neck to get a better view of what was happening down there. 

The match kicked off following a shrill whistle and the players on both sides broke into gallops immediately. Before long, Manuel had to left his seat or he would miss everything on the field, for almost everyone sitting in the front rows stood up and got his view blocked. Poking his head over the rail, he saw players struggling for the ball in the middle and from where he stood, it looked like they were wrestling with each other, until the Bayern player neatly tackled the ball out of his opponent’s control and quickly dribbled forward before passed it to his teammate, whom Manuel recognized as Robert Lewandowski. The top scorer of Bayern ended this attack with a decisive volley, full of strength. In the outburst of shrieks of excitement the ball darted to the top corner but unfortunately, it hit the crossbar and the flames of eager anticipation extinguished following the heavy thump. A ‘oh scheiße...’ ensued, coming to him from his left side, which, by his standard, sounded too dramatic and too sentimental.

For several times he heard the boy on his left gasp in horror every time the PSG players pelted down into the box. So catching was his emotion that Manuel felt himself more or less infected by his passion as a spurt of panic seized him from inside the moment that boy took a sharp intake of breath when Mbappe took aim and shot. The ball grazed the goalpost. Manuel breathed a sigh of relief, echoed with a feeble laugh from the boy on the left side, who hid his face behind his hands. Manuel wondered if he underwent an onrush of tears of relief just then.

Despite both sides in with a chance to take the lead, the first half was brought to a goalless close. Limbs aching, Manuel plopped down into the seat to ease the stiffness in the muscle. Glancing around, he caught a glimpse of the man on his right uploading the photos which were taken before to his Instagram.

‘Tired, I guess?’ the man spoke, aware of Manuel looking at himself, ‘Not everyone could endure standing for two hours or so.’ 

‘Yeah, not everyone.’ Manuel agreed, his eyes spontaneously falling on the hunched back of the boy who was supposed to sink back into the seat on his left right now, but instead choosing to remain where he was, peering down at the pitch as he stood leaning against the rail.

‘You’d think he’s a bit of neurotic, huh? That jumpy lad.’ The man murmured under his breath, his eyes flipping in the direction of that lanky boy when he noticed that Manuel was gazing fixedly at him. ‘All those screams and gasps. That’s too much.’ He shook his head, ‘Give me headaches.’

Manuel lapsed into thoughtful silence and it was not until a thorough contemplation that he broke into speaking, ‘That’s pretty much what everyone would have done when they are with their team in the arena.’ He averred, voice soft as ever but firm with conviction.

‘Well, that’s quite illuminating.’ said the man conversationally, and promptly ended this chit-chat with a polite but restrained smile before he went back dealing with the unread messages popping out on his phone.

The second half kicked into start after a fifteen-minute break. The stadium rallied to a storm of bellows as exhilaration once again welled up within its four walls. Within the first ten minutes it was all like a reenactment of the first half – the Bayern player beat his opponent to the ball and spurted past several defenders before taking the gamble and shooting with all his might. The ball described a graceful arc in the air and flew in the direction of the far corner of the net.

‘Come on…’ Manuel heard the boy on his left breathing out a whisper. He struck an attitude of prayer with his fingers interlaced. When the ball ended up skimming wide of the crossbar, the first thought that came to Manuel was how disappointed the lad must have been after witnessing all this as sweat cascading down the boy’s face came to his notice. Though he didn’t fail to notice that his own palms were also drenched by sweat after he let go of the rail when a sudden twinge in his knuckles prickled his nerves, and with a brief glance at the rail reflecting metallic shimmers he saw two sweaty prints left on its glossy surface.

The second half was nearly halfway through but both sides didn’t see a good chance to score, until the time had come, when Kimmich dribbled the ball forward, passed it to Gnabry – for a fleeting instance it seemed that the whole stadium sank into an eccentric standstill as no one dared to breathe, but to remain silent and watch them perform. Arcing smoothly and elegantly, instead of curling into the net as was expected, this time the ball darted to the back post and coming as a revelation to everyone, a streak of red blur, chancing his arm and leaping smartly up from a knot of defenders, headed in the leading goal.

With the team securing a one-goal lead, Manuel’s taut nerves relaxed a trifle, but he had yet to figure out who it was that scored for the moment the ball spurted into the net, the boy on his left, giddy with excitement, flung himself onto Manuel and knocked him away from the rail before Manuel had time to recognize the scorer. His view was completely blocked by the slim bouncing shadow and he was almost deafened cause the boy was shrieking hysterically by his ears like a squeaky crow. Manuel felt his neck tightly wrapped up in his lanky arms and his cheek kissed by the boy’s hot, sweaty skin.

 _Hugging,_ murmured Manuel inwardly, flabbergasted, and maybe a little bit horror-stricken but definitely not with loathing. Manuel didn’t know how he was supposed to reciprocate for it felt like ages went past since the last time he had plunged crying happily into the embrace of a neighbor in the wake of a beautiful goal. Those memories seemed to be long encased and dumped in a dusty corner in his mind. Standing rooted to the spot, he didn’t know where he was supposed to put his arms, whether to follow his instincts and put them on his back or wrap them around his nape as a small voice in his head instructed when his mind went completely blank amidst the hoots of screams.

‘Yes! Yes! Got it! We’ve got it!’ Manuel heard the lanky boy shrilling jovially. His brain suddenly sprung to life at the boy’s whooping and howling. His voice was so loud and piercing even in the midst of the cheers shouted at the top of their voices by tens of thousands of spectators in chorus, it somehow stood out. The voice was familiar, ringing in his head, distinct from the vague fragments of the past, as he had once been surrounded by tens of thousands of voices alike, as he had once heard it escape from the deep of his own throat maybe some twenty years ago.

 _That raw emotion._ Manuel could smell that raw emotion with every fiber of his being.

The frenzied roars subsided after the referee whistled for the kickoff. Without any word, they parted spontaneously as if by tacit agreement. For the following fifteen minutes or so there wasn’t any further light exchange of words, not a single eye contact as though nothing had ever happened. They just stood shoulder to shoulder with the fabrics of their jerseys rustling against each other every now and then and whenever Manuel stole a furtive glimpse at him, he was faced with a prominent profile where sparkles of exhilaration could clearly be seen even though they were almost half-eaten by the grim shadow cast from above. Melted in those eyes was nothing complicated, not a compound which was in need of a thorough investigation to decipher, but pure elation, pure and simple and one glance was enough to see it through.

 _The primitive impulse of passion._ Manuel exclaimed inwardly in awe. He couldn’t fail to notice that blazing passion burnt in those fiery eyes when it was handed to him on a silver platter.

And he also didn’t fail to notice how the fella’s lanky arms, whether consciously or unconsciously, wound up and encircled his upper arm, and tightened at the specific point when a PSG striker, beyond everyone’s expectation, managed a shot even though ringed by several defenders.

‘Oh my god.’ The boy gasped and at the same time Manuel felt a slight tremor diffusing to his every limb. He could tell from the rustle against his back that the boy must hide himself behind him to avoid seeing it for himself should, worst of all, their opponents equalize. But it seemed that the lucky lady favored them today as the ball once again skimmed past the goalpost.

With a brief sigh of relief Manuel glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘They didn’t score. It’s still 1-0.’

‘Thank goodness.’ The boy reappeared wheezing by his side, ‘My heart almost leapt out.’

Manuel could barely repress a chuckle.

‘Just calling a spade a spade.’ The boy shrugged, loosened the grip and quickly repositioned himself behind the rail in case he missed anything on the pitch.

Even though the boy kept Manuel at a discreet distance once he had released his arm, with time ticking by he could care less whether or not he still kept a proper distance from this neighbor and while he stood in rapt silence concentrating on every move down there in the field, unbeknownst to him, the distance between them shrunk noticeably because every time their opponents had the ball, he would subconsciously leaned closer to Manuel to prop himself up or even cowered behind him. Every so often his arms would find its way up to wrap around Manuel’s arm like a snake slithering for its prey whenever the PSG player made an attempt to shoot and not until the coast was clear would he slacken his firm grasp. However as the end drew closer and the match became fiercer, he didn’t let go of his arm for even a tiniest break but tightly clung to it as though clutching at straws.

Above their heads struck up a deep, drawn-out voice saying that there will be a five-minute stoppage time. Hardly had the voice faded away before the boy’s gloomy mumblings started, ‘Five minutes? Enough to give me a heart attack.’

Manuel allowed himself a thin smile. After a long pause, when the cheering howls of Bayern fans obscured by the chanting of elated PSG supporters as the players dressed in dark blue now outnumbered the Bayern players and could organize the attack at a more sedate pace, in an even more sedated air he ventured, ‘They’ll win this game. I mean, Bayern, of course.’ He hastily added when he noticed the ambiguity in this remark once it slipped off from his tongue.

‘You are a master at foretelling?’ asked the boy, a hint of incredulity in his young, high-pitched voice.

‘Not exactly. But I always get a good sense on things like this. Maybe that’s my superpower.’

The boy broke into a brief squeaky laugh. It was hard to tell if what Manuel said did register in his brain for he immediately immersed himself back into the match in a heartbeat, but he did appeared to be a trifle relaxed and wasn’t that tense and hysterical anymore.

In the agonizing waiting the match slowly dragged to the last minute. By then seldom would Manuel follow everything on the pitch. Instead, he stared attentively at the screen hanging right in front of him, his eyes following the movement of the electronic needle slowly revolving while he counted down inwardly, breath held and posing an attitude of prayer. _10, 9, 8…_ he murmured silently, feeling the grip on his arm tightened right when the spectators around him exhaled a breath of relief in unison in contrast to the PSG fans, who whined for letting a good chance slip.

‘7, 6, 5…’ the lanky boy gave vent to a timid whisper. Quite unlike what he had been before, when he was all the while shrieking and jigging up and down, now it looked as though he was not himself anymore, as he remained eerily quiet and motionless, while the only thing moving was his lips, ‘Come on…’ he murmured in a weak, pleading voice, clinging harder to Manuel, who, in an attempt to set his troubled mind at ease, in return gave his hand a soothing squeeze. Deep down Manuel had no idea why he’d bother do this but somehow it felt like the right thing to do, as was told by his instincts. 

‘4, 3–’ the boy continued, but soon barged in by a sudden commotion at the far side of the stand. Wrinkling his forehead curiously, he craned his neck forward to see the PSG players pierced through the defense, forcing their ways into the box, directly facing the goal and ready to take their last chance. ‘Oh no.’ he groaned, ‘No, no, no. I beg you, Sven, save our butt.’

Manuel cupped his cold sweaty hands in his own. Again, he didn’t know what prompted this rash act but when they clung to each other he found it hard to resist the urge to pull him closer.

While gazing eagerly at the revolving needle and the red flashing digit next to it, out of the corner of the eye Manuel saw the ball dart straight to the far corner of the net in record time like an arrow set loose. Inside the pitch was deathly still; the spectators stared with so much intensity that they almost forgot breathing. When almost everyone thought the die was cast, the goalkeeper, determined to give everyone a surprise, threw his whole body sideways in a daredevil move and managed a brilliant save using only the tip of his fingers.

‘Oh my god, Sven.’ Swaying on the spot, the boy laughed sniffling, ‘I’d name my first-born after you.’

After the ball rolled out of the sideline the referee gave possession to Bayern. Without a second of delay Ulreich lofted the ball up field and right when the ball, to which called everyone’s attention, peaked in the mid-air, a piercing whistle brought the match to a close. All of a sudden the stadium came to the boil, swept over by ripples of wild cheers. But for Manuel even the loud whoops dwarfed by the brisk chirping from a certain squeaky crow and sounded like obscure whispers in the distance in drastic contrast.

‘We made it! We are the champions! We are the king of Europe!’ he squealed, capering and with his lanky arms loosely draped over Manuel’s shoulders. But before Manuel could join in with cheering, he suddenly went very quiet, burying his face in his hands as he rest his head against Manuel’s chest, plunging into a paroxysm of convulsive sobs and not after several failed attempts before he finally muster up enough strength to poise himself to talk, even though he was still shivering terribly, ‘I can’t believe it…’ he broke into a tearful laugh, ‘Last time we crowned treble I was only in high school. Felt like years… no, it is _years_. Seven years…’

Tentatively stretching out his arms, Manuel pulled the boy into a hug, letting his head rest on his shoulder and giving him gentles pats on the back. It was all like what he remembered from childhood memories, when he was truly emotionally-attached to someone wearing the jersey of same colors.

‘…Hansi is amazing. Oh man, it felt so unreal. I still can’t believe it…’ the boy blabbered on feelingly in a strangled voice, with his soaking wet face against Manuel’s collarbone while making a hard grip on his shoulders, totally oblivious to the fact that the tears were all splattered across the front of Manuel’s jersey. Manuel felt his hot rapid breath touch his own burning skin and driven by a sudden flush of emotions, rather overwhelmed, Manuel ventured,

‘Is it alright if I kissed you?’

‘You can fuck me right here and now.’ the boy blurted almost offhandedly.

A thin smile tugged the corner of Manuel’s mouth, ‘A kiss would do.’ He breathed, bent over slightly for a kiss and let it linger for an extra fraction of a second to savor the feeling.

It was only after disengaging himself from Manuel that the stains of tears on the jersey finally came to the boy’s notice. Flustered and mortified, the boy let out a succession of incoherent mumblings which at any rate, might only be intelligible to none other than himself.

‘…I’m so sorry about this…’ he stuttered, ‘Silly me. I can get you a new one–’

Manuel interrupted his mumbling with a crisp laugh. ‘I think you might need this.’ he said softly, handing the boy a tissue and it seemed that over the past 90 minutes this was the first time that he had actually given Manuel a good sizing-up. As their eyes met each other, despite his face half shrouded in the shadows, Manuel could tell it firmly that his eyes reflecting a beautiful rich shade of brownish-green.

Awestruck and biting back a gasp, the boy remained frozen to the spot while he regarded Manuel in a most fervent manner. Even so he was still avid for a better look, until he realized it might be too much as a faint crimson stealthily crept over his tears-stained cheeks and dropped his gaze instead to avoid Manuel’s persistent, intent stare. In a clumsily flurried attempt to catch the silky tissue the boy however, let it slip through his fingers. He cursed under his breath.

‘Don’t bother.’ Manuel said hastily, handing him a new one, ‘Use this.’

‘Thanks.’ He cracked a broad grin and took the tissue dabbing his eyes.

In the following twenty minutes they stood in silence witnessing the moment of pride when the team was crowned the king of Europe. Inside the stadium a shower of confetti rained down when the players ascended the podium to raise the trophy. In the midst of scattered drizzles of bunting scraps Manuel saw the boy, whether it was owing to curiosity or his playful nature, crane forward over the rail with his hands spread out wide and soon retreated back with a handful of confetti. To Manuel’s utter surprise, he stowed them all into his pockets.

 _Makes sense. Those are the souvenirs of treble,_ Manuel said to himself a moment’s later. But whether the reasoning was convincing or not, to him it all fell into insignificance comparing to that dazzling grin and the glitters flashing in those eyes where all those pure emotions he had remembered and been seeking for throughout the years came to the mix in profusion.

Gradually the players filed out of the pitch and so did all the spectators. Before long the stadium was once more reigned by serenity. Bringing up the rear, the two of them gave the empty stadium a wistful glance before traipsing out and back under the vast, star-strewn sky. Manuel flicked his eyes up to see the sky was ink-black – it must be pretty late.

‘Guess it’s time to say goodbye then?’ the boy broke the silence, trying to act breezily but he overdid it that it appeared a mite peculiar. Maybe he realized it, or not, but either way he let out a giggle and gave Manuel a light hug, ‘Thanks for the tissue. And–’ he paused, but in the end nothing managed to escape his lips actually and in the dim light flashing across the façade of the Allianz arena, although uncertain of whether it was a mere illusion or if it was simply the reflection of the neon lights casting from above, Manuel believed he saw the boy’s face redden. Nonetheless he said nothing, but waited. 

‘Well,’ the boy managed a throaty sound at length, ‘goodbye Mr. Prophet.’

And off he went, trotting into the steely darkness. Unbeknownst to him, Manuel’s gaze followed him into the fathomless black until his lanky silhouette completely melted away. But Manuel didn’t leave instantly. He stood still for some moment, looking up into the sky where numerous of shimmering pinpricks scattered over the ink-black canvas.

The stars. Manuel always saw them as a big family. He thought of them as a school of orcas, which under no circumstances would leave a friend alone in the icy waters.

 _The wind was bitingly chill,_ thought Manuel. Letting out a long cold breath, Manuel darted one last doleful look up before he ambled away to the parking lot. There he saw his car squatted alone under the sky, perfectly blended into the dark void.

In the wake of a rumble the car jolted into motion, trundling on the bumpy track for a while before turning down to the main path leading to the heart of the city. The gust of wind knocked brutally on the windshield and sent chills down to his spine even though he was seated in a confined space warmed up by heat. The coldness could always penetrate through. Always. _But if you looked on the bright side,_ argued Manuel internally, _it was only in a nasty windy night that you can truly admire the spectacular starlit sky._

As he slowly drove past the Fröttmanning station he couldn’t repress a glimpse at it. He guessed it was his thoughts on that boy at work for they preyed on his mind like a nagging pain. He wondered if the boy already caught the metro and would be soon winging his way back home. The thoughts haunted him for too long that he was close to taking it as a proven fact rather than a speculation and for this reason he was utterly stunned to see that familiar lanky silhouette materialize some distance ahead of him, strolling alone along the road when he had long since drove past the station. Etched against the ebony void he looked so tiny, and skinnier than he already was when he hid huddled under his flimsy jacket. Taking in a deep breath, Manuel pressed the accelerator harder to catch up on him and pulled leveled with him within seconds. He wound down the window and called him twice before the boy, who was deep in contemplation, finally noticed him.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ said him briskly through trembling lips, ‘Mr. Prophet.’

The headlight smudged a thin daub of pale white on his face, which seemed to rub the last flush of color off his skin and Manuel saw him turned up the collar of his jacket against the chilling wind, thus he figured he better saved those chit-chats and cut to the chase instead.

‘Wanna hitch a ride?’

The boy bit his lips in thoughtful silence. His eyes first fell on Manuel, and then roved away into the back of the car as though he wanted to see if Manuel was up to no good and make sure there wasn’t anything harmful skulking in the dark. After a thorough scrutiny the boy cracked a broad smile and hopped into the car. He informed Manuel of the address and since then there was no exchange of words. The car ghosted smoothly under the stars.

Every so often Manuel would steal a furtive glance at the boy, whose brooding face mirrored on the glass. He sat petrified with his head rest against the window from where he looked out into the distance. Out there lay the bustle and hustle of a metropolis; the flashing neon light loomed up over them, casting a faint blurry shade of red on the boy’s cheeks and bringing color back to his pale face but once they drove past where was kissed by lights, he faded back into what he was, an every inch dark and petrified shadow. For a split second, an eerie scene where a lost dinghy trailing through the dark waves materialized in his mind for some inexplicable reasons. And somehow he believed he had smelled a same waft of loneliness around him. But he soon dismissed this thought, warned himself not to plough on with connecting himself with someone whom he had only known for two hours all because they might share something in common and feigned a hearty smile when the boy darted a glance back.

The car came to a grinding halt at the traffic lights. He flicked a quick glimpse at the panel down there – the flashing numbers said seven minutes past twelve. They were now near the downtown and the bellows of wind were drowned by the piercing hooting of cars and the shrill laughter of the drunk party-goers who were yet to come home and still sauntering along the pavement.

‘Why were you still strolling around there back then?’ asked Manuel at long last, thinking they could use the time to shoot the breeze.

‘I’d rather stay out for a while. Every time after we win something. I could really use some light breeze you know.’

‘To let the giddiness wear off?’

The boy bit his lips thoughtfully, ‘Not exactly. I’d like to have some moments of my own so that I could savor that taste of triumph undisturbed.’

‘Some feelings are better only kept to yourself huh?’

‘Sort of.’ The boy shrugged, ‘And if I ever wanted to whistle the climax of Stern des Südens, I could only do it when I was alone ambling along, otherwise I’d be kicked out of the tube.’

‘I suppose you would in no way burst into a waltz when you were strolling around on your own?’ said Manuel in jest.

‘I don’t waltz.’ The boy answered with a straight face, ‘I tango.’

Manuel succumbed to a paroxysm of loud guffaws on hearing his reply.

The light turned to green. Manuel slammed down the accelerator and the car screeched into move. They passed the huddle of giggling party-goers and made a swerve for the street extending eastwards. Right then another question bubbled to the surface.

‘You’ve always been to there alone?’

The boy let out a crisp chuckle, ‘Oh no, not always. I used to drag my roommate along with me but soon he refused to go, not anymore. Says I embarrassed him.’ He allowed himself a hollow laugh, ‘Well, it can be embarrassing. You might be able to relate to him.’

Manuel weighed his words but ended up with nothing.

‘Sometimes I wish I know how to shut my mouth.’ the boy continued, ‘But it doesn’t always work. When that feeling came over you, you got to let it out. My mom taught me that–’ he stopped short, and seemed to think of something as he darted an apologetic look at Manuel, who was listening rather attentively, ‘Still, I shouldn’t let it all out on your jersey though. Sorry mate.’

Manuel could barely hold back a giggle, ‘Let’s forget this.’

‘Yeah, like what a real cool guy would do. Just forget all the stuff.’ The boy joked, ‘By the way, I’m Thomas. And you are–’

‘Manuel.’

‘You look just like a Manuel in my imagination.’ Thomas teased, ‘You are not from here, I suppose?’

‘How could you tell?’

‘We don’t talk like that.’ Thomas chuckled, puffing out his cheeks to mimic how a native Bavarian would talk in a dramatic fashion. Manuel found his lips curved into a soft smile in an involuntary move, nonetheless it was not because of what he said. He just looked at him and all of a sudden he couldn’t help cracking a smile. Manuel wondered if that was his superpower.

‘So where are you from?’ Thomas’ voice intruded on his thoughts, ‘The western regions, I guess? Köln? Or Düsseldorf?’ 

‘I grew up in Gelsenkirchen.’

‘Schalke!’ Thomas exclaimed, stretching his arms in an attitude of cheering on the team, ‘kinda odd though, hearing the name come out of my mouth in this way.’

‘And I’d never thought I would ever put on a Bayern jersey back when I was still 10.’ Manuel echoed, looking straight into the distance. They were now at the heart of the city and even though it was past midnight, the said heart was still thumping vigorously. The pubs lined up along the street were resonated with laughter and out on the pavements were swarms of fans mellow with the taste of victory under a huge Bayern flag billowing in the wind. ‘If my younger self ever learned about this–’ he continued absentmindedly, ‘he’d give up everything to get here in whatever way he could and killed me.’

‘Speak of the devil.’ Thomas gasped, shrinking back away from him in mock horror. But he soon broke into a giggle when he saw Manuel fall for it.

‘I thought he was climbing out through somewhere on the sunroof.’ said Manuel in his own defence.

‘Creepy. The word is creepy. And let’s not dig further into this or I’d have a nasty nightmare.’

Manuel allowed himself a thin smile, though deep down he knew Thomas was right. Your younger self crawling out through the sunroof with a knife brandished in his right hand? – that sure was a creepy scene.

‘You remind me of those Schalke fans,’ murmured Manuel in a dreamy voice, as a reminiscent expression spread across his face, ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’ He added in haste when he saw the significant look on Thomas’ face, ‘Not an insult. It’s the way you cheer for the team reminds me–’

‘That’s why you gave me the tissue?’ Thomas cut in. Manuel was a bit slow on the uptake that he sat blinking vacantly for quite a while before he stuttered,

‘No, that has nothing to do with Schalke.’

‘So you are always so sweet with others?’

‘Not always.’

With his shrewd eyes gleaming in the dark Thomas gave Manuel a quick survey, although he averted his gaze when Manuel looked back. After that it seemed that they both retreated back to the shells and there was no more chit-chatting. The car skidded smoothly on the road and down into a quiet neighbourhood where most of its residents were already sound asleep. Moments later Manuel pulled the car into a halt across a smartly-looking seven-storey flat. Its livid shadow towered over them as though ready to gulp them down in one mouthful.

‘I live on the top floor. See that window on the right? That’s my room.’ Thomas pointed out to him. But it was utterly unnecessary since amongst the whole exterior walls there was only one patch of facade adorned with Bayern colours. ‘I guess an update should be added on the agenda. The elements of treble should be added to it.’ He regarded the decorations intently, but soon brought the brainstorming to a close and turned to Manuel with an earnest look.

‘Thanks for the ride.’ he said briskly. For a second or two Manuel believed that he did see a faint blush on Thomas’ face, which was the same as what he had seen the last time they parted outside the arena. The difference was, this time, there being no neon lights around.

His hand was already on the handle when suddenly he alighted on something. With a swift sweep of arm he scooped up a pencil hiding deep under the windshield and scribbled with it on the back of a scrap of confetti which he had just fished out of his pocket. He ended his scribbling with a flourish, folded it in half and tucked it in the pocket on Manuel’s jacket.

‘Goodbye, Manuel.’ he gave him gentle pat on the shoulder before walking down to the street.

Eager to know what was written on that slip of paper, Manuel dug his hand into the deep of his pocket without a second of delay and whipped out the folded scrap. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the light, illegible handwriting under the interior light but he was interrupted in midstream by a knock on the window. Gazing up, he found Thomas smiling at him. Manuel rolled down the window.

‘How did those Schalke fans cheer for their team?’

‘Picturing those who lived in primitive times shouted in a voice that’s somewhere between a crow’s squeak and a T-Rex’s roar.’

Thomas tried hard not to burst into a hoarse guffaw at one o’clock at the very heart of a quiet neighbourhood. ‘Something between a crow and a long-dead ancient monster?’ he giggled, ‘That’s how you feel about me?’

‘But I think that’s kinda cute. I’ve always had a fancy for crows and those mysterious ancient monsters. They are beautiful creatures.’ said Manuel earnestly. He felt something down in his stomach did a jolt when he saw Thomas’ grin broaden.

‘Fair enough.’ He agreed, ‘And one more word–’ he continued, now he was grinning from ear to ear. In the brief pause Manuel could feel his own thumping heart hammering ferociously against his chest as he sat upright and tightened, with that tiny scrap of paper tightly clutched in his fist, which was nearly soaked through by the sweat. He waited in breathless silence, regarding Thomas wide-eyed and a second later in came the answer, muffled by winds, nonetheless audible.

‘I like your eyes.’ Thomas said crisply, before he tripped off into the huge towering shadow and left the guy sitting inside the car numb with shock.

Manuel gaped at his receding silhouette. Even with the chilling winds furiously beating against his face, his cheeks were burning hot as a result of a drifting flush of euphoria mixed with astonishment. He laboured under the illusion that there was a cluster of bugs droning around him, making this nasty whizzing sound which in no way had anything to do with the blood rushing to his head.

An exceptionally mighty gale of wind liberated him from the daze. Sniffing loudly amidst the screeching of winds, he wound the window up to resist cold and smoothed the creased scrap of paper out to continue what he had left halfway through. Blinking against the faint light, he saw a string numbers unfolded before his eyes.

Giving vent to a laugh, Manuel carefully pocketed the scrap before he ignited the car into motion, and swished past the warmly-lit window upon which outlined a lanky shadow in the wake of a roar of the engine.

Manuel didn’t have too much time to ponder on everything happened that night ever since he came back because, for one thing, it all went too fast and besides, his mailbox was bombarded with working mails, even though he only asked for one day off. 

That scrap of paper bearing Thomas’ illegible scrawls was stowed between the leaves of his diary. Manuel was in the habit of writing a few words every day to keep a note of his daily life but he left a totally blank page for June 3rd, where there was not a single word, save that crumpled scrap of paper attached to it. Everything he had experienced that night had been perfectly condensed into those simple numbers so why bothered adding something superfluous?

_Superfluous._ As he peered at the red jersey hung beside the blue-and-white one, he suddenly thought it a superfluous ornament. Admittedly, he slowly took to it after years of living in Munich but deep down he didn’t actually love Bayern. He just treasured the company of the others, the shared passion when cheering for the team, and being held and cuddled and maybe a few exchange of words on the way back home…

He had bumped into Thomas once on his way back home, though it was unbeknownst to that young chap. He arranged an appointment with a client in a cafe in the immediate vicinity of where Thomas lived. It wasn’t on purpose. His client happened to live in the same neighbourhood and Manuel did what he believed was the best to make his client pleased and comfortable by means of choosing a rendezvous that was the nearest to his place. He wasn’t aware of the adjacency at first, not when he was still on business, even though a glimpse at the outline of that smartly-looking building standing sentinel over them did bring to mind of some vague fragments of the memories dating back to some two months ago. Still, he didn’t pay much attention. It was only after he bade farewell to that good-natured but garrulous client and walked down to the street that he finally came to realize where he actually was, when that towering, malicious-looking dark shadow crept into sight.

And that was when Thomas came into view. He was just back from work, clearly worn-out as a trace of exhaustion flickered across his face and lingered for a fraction of a second but it was soon rubbed off when he stopped and exchanged an enthusiastic greeting with a silver-haired stubby bloke who probably lived nearby. After the elder tottered away he continued, also a little wobbly himself due to the large carton he was holding in his arms, on which lay a stack of paper. He trudged into the shadow and Manuel lost sight of him. What he knew next was the creaking of the door in the wake of a silvery click when Thomas thrust the card into the slot, and then everything was back to where it had been, not a sound, nor a movement, only the hushed whispers of naughty winds. Glancing up, he saw the window on the top floor shine with warm orange lights moments later and by the beams of spilling light he made out a self-made poster gluing to the window, reading ‘Treble’. 

Manuel laughed silently to himself at the sight of it. That night when he sat at his desk, his diary lay flat and open and a ballpoint pen in hand ready to scratch what he had seen there on another blank page, somehow he couldn’t sort out his thoughts and put them into neatly-organized sentences. Maybe part of the reason was that he could hardly resist the impulse of flipping it a few pages back to take a look at those lightly-scrawled numbers, even though it was superfluous for he already learned those numbers by heart.

For a second or two he seriously considered making the call. His cellphone was at the ready but he ended up dropping it. He didn’t know if he was prepared for what was to come, or if he actually wanted this, to invite another guy into his uneventfully dull life. And neither did he know if Thomas already passed up on him. After two-month of fruitless waiting, his interest might already transfer to another one, who was either younger or more passionate. After all, they were just two lonely souls zooming around the thumping heart of the city like lost dinghies drifting through waves. Had it not been for some turbulence, they might never have come across each other, so why would he risk putting all his bet on someone he chanced to meet in an arena?

 _But he likes your eyes,_ a timid voice reminded him. Manuel gazed hungrily at a shaft of sunlight etched against the wall as though he had imagined it as Thomas’ lanky shadow. He looked at it long enough that his eyes tingled.

Distraught with thoughts, he slumped back to bed and closed his eyes in hope of setting his mind at ease. But so long as he sank back into darkness, the fragments of what happened these days would pop out and crammed his head leaving no spare inch at all. He thought of how Thomas’ breath touched his skin like a soft hand, how their lips brushed against each other and how he looked at him with those wide alluring eyes capable of killing. Manuel wasn’t sure of many things but there was one thing he could assert, with firm conviction, that what happened that night was already etched on his heart and left a permanent mark there.

Manuel fumbled his phone out, typed in the numbers from memory and stared intensively at the screen, meditating. After a moment of contemplation he clicked open a website. When he had finally set everything in train it was half past nine. For a split second he feared it might be too late to make a call but in the end he figured it was all a fuss and pressed the calling button nonetheless, holding his breath and waiting in a fever of impatience.

Thomas picked up quickly, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Oh, it’s–’ Manuel spluttered with both nervousness and embarrassment. He didn’t realize he had made Thomas wait for too long so he hastened to begin, ‘It’s Manuel. We’ve met on June 3rd, in the Allianz Arena, on the night of Champions league final, remember? You gave me this number.’

There was no sound at the other end. So Manuel continued, rather apprehensively, ‘I’m calling to ask you if you’d like to see the opening match next Friday?’ he paused. Yet there was still no response. ‘Bayern versus Schalke. I’ve got two tickets. So… will you come along?’

It was a good thing that Thomas couldn’t see his face right now cause his cheeks were steaming hot, so hot that for an instant Manuel dreaded his phone overheating. But compared to the silence on the other side his dread fell into insignificance. It was ominous. Manuel felt he was not waiting for an answer but a settling thud when the judge clashed the hammer to announce the verdict.

‘It’s alright if you prefer not to go.’ Manuel began a moment later, when he couldn’t stand the eerie silence anymore, ‘I understand. Nowadays everyone’s busy, we’ve all got loads of stuff to fret over–’

‘Took you ages to make this call, didn’t you?’ said Thomas at long last. It was hard to tell if his voice took on a hint of amusement or scathing coldness, or have them both. For better or worse, it only made Manuel’s face hotter and scarlet with embarrassment.

Somehow Thomas seemed to feel it for he quickly changed the subject, ‘Tell me, which jersey you intend to put on? Bayern or Schalke?’

Manuel mulled it over carefully before giving his answer, ‘I’d wear the Schalke jersey over the Bayern one. If they let Bayern won by 8-0 I’d take the Schalke jersey off right on the spot and show everyone I’m a red through and through.’

‘Nice one.’ Thomas giggled, ‘And as for your question–’

Manuel felt something inside his stomach did a backflip. He swallowed nervously, and crossed his fingers.

‘–I’ll come.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but I'm too garrulous to condense it into maybe two pages or within 3k (the first chapter is actually 14 pages in my word.doc) so it becomes a multi-chaptered fic...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took longer than I had expected to finish this (a month exactly? not sure) due to some unexpected twists in the plot (something like 'you have no idea what you might be confronted with or experience on a journey' I guess it's the same way with writing) but at least it was brought to a planned close.

Manuel learned many things about Thomas over the past several rendezvous. For starters, he was a Bavarian born and bred, which explained his strong accent, even though Manuel, for one, thought it quite likeable. He worked as an editor for Süddeutsche Zeitung and he had a strange fetish of collecting megaphones. He even saved a cabinet for his megaphones of all sizes and brands. Although Manuel heard through the grapevine that his roommate, whose name was Daniel, held a strong disapproval to his collection.

A few exchanges of words during the ride were enough for Manuel to get to know Thomas for he was a guy who was always so keen to talk. But it was till a month later, when they were on their way back from the match between Bayern and Frankfurt that he finally learned about his surname.

Müller was the most common surname in Germany, so that made the name ‘Thomas Müller’ an altogether pretty ordinary one, if not the most ordinary. But Thomas was not in the least ordinary, as far as Manuel was concerned. If his fetish of collecting megaphones wasn’t enough to make him stand out then making himself a human megaphone whenever there was a Bayern match going on should help him secure a place in the competition of _The Most Extraordinary Thomas Müller_.

Their rendezvous, which, put in other words, was Manuel joining in with him on the stand of Allianz Arena and later taking him back home after two hours of shrieking at the top of their voices, was always rather predictable. The only exception though, was on September 13th, which was Thomas’ birthday. They had held a quiet celebration in a pub just a stone’s throw from where Thomas lived, with only two of them.

‘Don’t you want to call some friends to join in?’ asked Manuel gingerly when Thomas helped himself to another glass of whiskey, ‘I mean, it’s your birthday and there are only two of us, competing to be the first to drink himself under the table. No birthday spirit at all. Looks kinda–’

‘Pathetic?’ Thomas finished the sentence, looking at him over the rim of his glass. Manuel saw his own reflection contorted in the mirror.

‘The word I was thinking was forlorn but…’ Manuel bit his lips, ‘well, doesn’t matter anyway. I just thought maybe we could… that’s what you need for a birthday party… to have a ball. Hey, why not call your roommate down here? Then that would make it three and maybe we could play cards. You love playing cards, don’t you?’

‘He won’t be at home, I assure you. He’s a party-goer so he’s probably still at the club some blocks away walking around in a Dirndl.’

‘But–’

‘Besides, he’s got his own life, and I’ve got mine. Sharing a room and going halves on rent and all the bills don’t mean that we are friends. So end of the story. And why would you care so much about my birthday party? I know it’s poorly-organized but it’s not like I’ve got it all messed up by inviting Joachim Löw to sing _You’ll Never Walk Alone_ by my bedside so why bother?’

Manuel knew he was plastered. He could tell it from his dazed and watery eyes, his flushed cheeks and the way he swayed in his seat. In the rest of the evening Manuel didn’t throw any question at him but indulged him with relentless talking, listening to his complaint about a demanding boss and gossiping colleagues, and stealthily removing the whiskey when he was off guard.

They stayed deep into the night until Thomas nursed the last drop in his glass. Manuel walked him back home, ambling across the empty street in deathly silence and after a seemingly endless flight of stairs they stopped at a battered door, on the surface of which was etched with a mass of cracks looking similar to a huge cobweb.

‘Water leakage.’ said Thomas indifferently by means of explanation when he caught a glimpse of the expression on Manuel’s face, ‘That’s what you would probably be rewarded with if you lived on the top floor.’

It took Thomas several attempts to successfully thrust the key into the keyhole and the second the door was yanked open, they found themselves faced with a vast black.

‘See? I told you he wouldn’t be at home.’ Thomas grunted rather defiantly, striding over the threshold and switching on the light. For an instant Manuel laboured under the delusion that they were kept apart by an invisible door when he was lurking in the poorly-lit passageway while Thomas was standing opposite, bathed in the warm light cascading from above. ‘Won’t you come inside?’ he began a moment later, a subtle trace of bemusement guttering in his eyes.

‘I’ve still got some work to do.’ Manuel hedged. 

‘Work, huh.’ Thomas snorted, striding forward and slinging one arm around Manuel’s shoulder, ‘What kind of work?’ asked him in a somewhat challenging air. He swayed a trifle on the spot but managed to brace himself against Manuel, his right hand finding its way onto the big guy’s plump cheek and slowly tracing down to his chin and then his neck, feeling his prominent Adam’s apple positively rolling up and down. Manuel heard a chuckle slipped out from between those two reddening lips which drew nearer and nearer, along with a pungent smell of liquor, hot and arousing. He spontaneously closed his eyes and waited, in suffocating silence, as a fit of excitement drenched him inch by inch and he was on the verge of fluttering his eyelids open for the waiting was so agonizing before Thomas pressed his lips against his, running them all over Manuel’s cold lips, grossly squandering his glowing warmth. 

‘Caught you by surprise.’ said Thomas thickly under his whiskey-smelled breath, making a pretence of attack but cracking a hearty laugh when Manuel once again fell for it. Delighted with his tricks, he loosened the embrace and their lips parted. Yet Manuel didn’t wish to disengage himself from Thomas, he traced forward and kissed him back hard on the spur of the moment, biting the young man’s inflamed lips greedily like a boozer, all for the last bit of the alcohol lingered between his lips.

‘Why the tenseness?’ Thomas asked in between the intense kisses, ‘Haven’t you already kissed me before?’

‘It’s different.’ He murmured. It took Manuel much longer than he had expected to find his voice.

‘Different how?’ Thomas persisted, staring up at Manuel with his hazed eyes. Manuel could hear his heart pulsing to the rhythm of a gleefully raging melody. 

Averting his gaze elsewhere, Manuel let go of the grip on the young man’s side and took a step back into the poorly-lit passageway, ‘You are drunk.’

‘I only drank a bottle.’

‘That doesn’t define how drunk you are.’

Thomas hoisted a look he considered as much disgruntled as he could, which, nevertheless, was only reciprocated with a mild chuckle.

‘Go get some sleep.’

‘Can’t. I’ve got a mound of work to do.’ He grumbled, bouncing back and forth as his lips twitched in the suspicion of a vague smile. ‘And I’m not telling lies. Unlike you.’ He added, throwing a dark look at Manuel, whose face grew scarlet.

Later that day came as a surprise and followed by another one as it was the first time that Manuel had actually met Thomas’ roommate, Daniel, in person. The guy was just as Thomas had described, a detached face inharmoniously added to a muscular tanned torso; he literally bumped into Manuel in the sitting room, royally drunk and all messed up but seemed to take it pretty well to see a stranger, dishevelled and face steaming hot, stand merely in a crumpled shirt at his home in the middle of the night. Not to mention his shirt was wrongly-buttoned. He gave Manuel a curt nod as greeting and staggered back into his own room. Manuel heard him plop down hard on the bed and before long, from behind the tightly-closed door came the heavy snores.

By the time Manuel traipsed down to the pavement, the city had already been aroused from its sound sleep when stirring in the distance could clearly be heard. Turning up the collar of the jacket to avoid being knocked up by the callous wind, he glanced up to see the window on the top floor ablaze with warm lights, silhouetted against the pitch-black in sharp contrast.

In the dead of night, while staring fixedly up at that patch of blurry orange, once again he felt an onrush of loneliness and parted his lips in an attempt to make a sound, though it was not for his own sake. 

Lights, of different hues and values, illuminated the windows of different sizes and shapes one after another while he was on his way back home. Seated rigidly, every time his glimpse flickered across a freshly-lit window he thought of how they also looked so unfitted to this peaceful serenity and how the ceaselessly thumping heart of the city was carried by these separated cells bustling around behind the lit windows.

Manuel didn’t share these thoughts with anyone, not even with Thomas. The next Saturday when he pulled up across from the flat to pick Thomas up for the forthcoming match between Bayern and Köln, as if by tacit agreement, neither mentioned anything that happened last week but idled all the way with light chats, as though all those cuddling and caressing had only existed in imagination. It was the same story on the journey back. The conversation was mostly centred around the match, with Thomas blabbering on passionately while Manuel sat smiling silently, squinting a fond look at him whenever he was allowed, savouring that sparkling energy and admiring those eyes aglow with infinite enthusiasm.

The subject of the conversation however, took a sharp turn the moment the car crunched to a grinding halt once it slithered into that towering shadow. Its dominant dark hue deprived them of the radiantly rosy tints on their faces and Thomas suddenly swivelled to him, the glitter in his eyes withering,

‘Don’t you think we are like cells?’ he blurted, voice dry and throaty, ‘Fed every once in a while so that we are stimulated to carry the ceaseless pulsing of this giant heart inhabited by us?’

‘Yeah, we are like cells,’ Manuel agreed, not looking at him, ‘living to the rhythm of this callous thumping heart.’

They sat in pregnant silence, their eyes following a frail, haggard-looking man who was tottering past the car, talking abjectly to his phone and scuffling away in the blink of an eye. The silence lingered a bit more as Manuel, distracted with an entanglement of thoughts, looked far into the dark for quite a while before he eventually inclined to the impulse to talk.

‘Cells, aren’t we? Forced to dance to the rhythm of this one gigantic heart.’

‘Forced? No, more like contracted to. And it’s an everlasting contract.’

Manuel’s face took on a brooding look, ‘You’ve got work tonight?’

‘No, not a bit. Free as air.’ said Thomas flatly, ‘What about you? That’s not a I’ve-got-a-whole-free-Sunday-ahead-of-me face to me.’

Manuel’s lips curled into a smile, ‘Reversed this time, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a good thing you’ve already had fun last time.’ Thomas mumbled, his eyebrow cocking in supercilious fashion, ‘And you are right, I was drunk that night–’ He paused, a bit fidgeting in his seat, ‘–but tonight I’m sober. And I need to be fed.’

His arms closed in on Manuel’s hot flesh as he stretched out for a kiss. Slightly out of breath, with the prospect of another intercourse Manuel felt his heart did a lurch as Thomas’ lips brushed over his and slowly he sank into an ecstasy, so giddy had he become that it felt as though his consciousness were dead to the world.

‘Don’t forget to pull the handbrake.’ Thomas’ voice sounded somewhere in the distance. Startled, Manuel opened his eyes to find their limbs still in entanglement and their lips tangled up within each other into a sloppy kiss whereas his own hand, at some point, slithered down under the young man’s waistband in a fever of impatience.

‘Yeah, safety first.’ Manuel let out a giggle, applying the handbrake before he hastened to plunge back into what was backed by the intense rhythm of two feverishly pulsing hearts.

Things went on following their own usual paces and so were the things between Manuel and Thomas. They met each other once a week while remained almost zero contact in the rest of the week save some snatches of words during the exchange of texts at dead of night, when all the work was done and the minds were set to be rested. For once Manuel fell asleep while he was texting Thomas. The next day he woke up to find himself faced with an unsent text which was left halfway through, the cursor still flashing vigorously and his bicep aching due to holding the phone in a strange position the whole night long.

Manuel deleted what he had typed in and replaced it with a lengthy explanation of how he fell into oblivion when an onslaught of tiredness swept over him, thus leaving him there and begging his pardon.

Thomas’ reply came back quickly. At first Manuel feared that he might kick up a fuss, though he had the very reason to do so. But from what he said it seemed that he’d taken it pretty well, rather calm and collected, just like what he had been last night, which was to Manuel’s utmost amazement. The Thomas he knew could be pretty demanding like a petulant child clamouring for candy bars whenever he was in need to be ‘fed’. He would keep badgering him until he was satisfied. But last night he was uncharacteristically quiet and chose not to push him for any reply, which was so not Thomas-Müller-ish. When being asked, the young man simply said, ‘You were asleep then. I didn’t want to wake you up.’

For a moment Manuel could barely found his voice, as he felt a lump in his throat. They covered the rest of the stretch of road in deathly silence, without exchanging a single word regarding the match, at least not until they reached the entrance of the flats, when Thomas suddenly opened his mouth.

‘Not so bad taking the tube huh?’

Manuel shrugged noncommittally. Something’s wrong with his car so he had no option but to leave it in the parking lot and walk all the way back, and maybe call someone tomorrow to give it a nice check-up if time permitted.

‘Don’t worry, I can take it from there should, let’s say, your tyrannical boss forcibly drag you out of your bed at five o’clock in the morning and keep you captive in the office the whole day.’ Thomas gave him a pacifying squeeze on his cheek, ‘Just give me the number of the mechanic.’

‘I can handle it myself. No, it’s not that. It has nothing to do with the car, it’s…’ Manuel wavered. It was hard enough to let the words out smoothly when faced with a look of innocent curiosity and it was even harder if it was Thomas you were talking about. Manuel swallowed and heaved a heavy sigh to brace himself for what he was about to say, ‘Tell me, for how long did you wait last night for… my reply?’

He threw such an unexpected and inexplicable question at him that even in the thick darkness he could see a trace of astonishment flashed in Thomas’ eyes positively. The young man pursed his lips thoughtfully for a while before giving an answer, ‘Not too long. You know I’ve still got work today so I crawled back under the covers before long.’ He averred. And while he subconsciously took a step back into the shelter of the towering shadow the bags under his eyes had been thoroughly exposed by the dazzling headlight of a taxi streaking past them, which didn’t go unnoticed by Manuel.

‘Oh, that’d be nice.’ said Manuel slowly, staring at him, so preoccupied that almost all the senses were shut down. When he was woken up by a strong gale of biting wind seconds later, surprisingly he found their lips pressed together which he might in no way figure out how but he’d love to savour the jolt of warm tenderness brought by the contact of their skin nonetheless.

‘Have a tight sleep.’ Manuel whispered before he disengaged himself from Thomas, and with his own shadow draped at his heels, off he went straight into the deep in the night, walking along the pavement alone but deep in his heart he was sure that Thomas’ eager eyes were watching over him. Around him all was quiet, even the howling wind becoming subdued.

He took a turn to the left and turned down to an alley, fully engulfed by darkness. It was not until then that he heard what he had been expecting all along – the heavy door of the entrance creaked and soon came the nasty bang when the door swung shut.

Manuel had the least idea for how long he had weaved through the labyrinth of paths before he got back to his apartment but judging by the plum blur looming over from afar, the dawn was breaking, which meant he was only given a fleeting moment to take a light nap before he was called up to the office. The thought of this gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t regret it whatsoever. Sauntering out there at the very heart of the city long enough to cool himself down as he savoured the alluring warmth left by the other and chewed over it keenly before a gust of wind took it away from him, for the first time Manuel felt he had actually been inside someone’s heart.

 _Or hearts?_ He asked himself when he was halfway through unlocking the door, the key suspended from his cold, rigid fingers.

Unwilling to jump to conclusions and meanwhile as an onrush of tiredness swept over him, Manuel dropped the thoughts and pushed the key, hot to his touch, into the keyhole in a haste as though in fear that it might scald him. The lock clicked and before him unfurled a scattered mass, the exactly same as he had left it hours ago. Without even bothering turning on the light, he scuffled into the bedroom and threw himself on the bed with a hard landing. Yawning loudly, he groped for the pillow in the dark, and felt its soft texture before he crawled up to it, tugging the duvet over himself and curling himself up into a ball like a kitten, still fully clothed though.

Barely had he settled himself before a violent vibration coming from the pocket of his coat woke him up from soothing drowsiness. _Not my boss, please,_ Manuel bemoaned, fishing out the phone grudgingly and screwing up his eyes against the luminous screen for what felt like centuries before his eyes adjusted to light and what was presented in front him was no longer a dancing blur but words, in clear, small print. It was not from his boss. It was from–

 _Thomas._ Manuel sat bolt upright, peering down at the name popped out on the screen, transfixed. There were two unread messages from him, one was sent about half an hour ago and the other arrived just then. He even called him once, around ten minutes before, but he missed it. Manuel racked his brain to try to figure out where he was and what he had been doing at that time but ended up with nothing but blankness. Though it didn’t matter now, as he opened the message he just sent, in which he wrote ‘Call me when you get home.’

Fingers dancing wildly on the keyboard, Manuel rang back immediately. The phone beeped twice before Thomas picked up.

‘Just arrived.’ Manuel spoke first.

Seconds elapsed before Thomas’ voice sounded on the other end, rather childishly defiant, ‘Five more minutes of waiting and I’m gonna report to police for a missing case.’

Manuel laughed, ‘Those alleys, somehow they looked quite different when submerged in darkness, you gotta admit that.’

‘So you are telling me you’ve got lost in downtown Munich? The place where you’ve already lived for nine years?’

‘It happens.’

‘Only to you.’ Thomas retorted, and again his words were reciprocated with a chuckle from Manuel.

‘Time to put down your phone and get back to bed, really.’ said Manuel after a beat of pause, when neither seemed to take an interest in digging further in this regard.

‘Right, back to bed.’ Thomas grumbled on the other side. Manuel heard a gentle rustle of sheet when he crept up on bed and pulled the duvet over himself. ‘Oh, wait, it just comes to me… what’s their number?’

For a fleeting second Manuel was overwhelmed by bemusement before he slowly started to take it in that Thomas was talking about the number of the garage.

‘Don’t bother. I can deal with it myself, when I knock off work, probably.’ said him decisively.

However, since the second he had woken up, he threw all those stuff, like calling to the garage to send someone to the parking lot of the Allianz Arena to give his car a going-over, to the back of his mind. After a whole day of bustling around the office he wasn’t in the mood to fuss about anything. Dragging his feet to the bed and sprawling on it comfortably, eyes screwed shut, prepared to immerse himself into the sweet darkness, as though a lightning had struck on him, he suddenly rolled out of bed at the thought of his car, broken, and still forgotten in the parking lot.

 _Shit._ Manuel cursed inwardly, fumbling out his phone and typing in the numbers in a flurry. But Thomas beat him to it before he could make the call.

‘Just to tell you I’ve got it all settled.’ said Thomas quickly the second Manuel picked up, ‘The car is parked across the cafe, five-minute walk from your home, probably. That’s the best I could find cause–’ he paused, a bit awkward as his voice dropped down a trifle, ‘you are right, the alleys do look shockingly different in the night so I kinda like, forget where you live. But I should be able to locate it like a breeze in the daylight.’ He added.

Manuel blinked vacantly for quite a while, tried it several times but mostly ended up with incoherent mumblings.

‘You choke on water?’ asked Thomas with a hint of amusement. Manuel could even imagine his teasing smile tugging the corner of his mouth by means of that amusing tone, even though he couldn’t see his face. The thought of Thomas grinning at him illuminated his spirits and he soon retrieved his power of speech.

‘I just wonder how did you manage to find out their numbers?’

‘Well, there aren’t many garages here in downtown Munich, are there?’ said Thomas matter-of-factly.

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Manuel murmured weakly and decided to lead the conversation to another direction when he heard the car hooting in the background. ‘By the way, you still around here?’

‘Depends. I’m probably still two thousand yards within so I guess technically that could still count as _around_ , to some extent. Why would you ask that?’

‘Oh, I just thought… maybe we could…’ Manuel wavered, his throat burning as badly as Sahara under the blazing sun in mid-July’s afternoon, ‘well, never mind. It’s no big deal, really.’

He tried to sound as much convincing as he could but the audible, ragged breath on the other side could only mean suspicion.

‘We will meet on Saturday, anyway.’ said Thomas curtly at last.

‘Right, see you then–’

He did a double-take when his remark was interrupted in midstream by sharp bleeps and while sitting rigidly in darkness, he laboured under the illusion that time ran slower here, which might partially explain why it was not until moments later that he came to realize that Thomas had hung up before he could even finish his sentences.

Tossing the phone away, Manuel sank back to his bed. The instant his nape scratched against the soft fabrics of the duvet cover he felt an odd twinge shot through the back of his neck, where was once held by the other man’s tender hand. Staring at the blank ceiling, for once he didn’t as much look forward to the forthcoming match as he had been.

However it was a completely different story when the match day actually came. He enjoyed the game of high competition; he admired the cheerful chanting sweeping across the whole stadium; he adored the beautiful volleys and most of all, he loved having Thomas around, who was as enthusiastic and elated as ever, cheering for his team every minute of the match. But even he somehow paused, strangely and unexpectedly, in the wake of a brilliant goal, to gape at the guy shrieking and bouncing up and down next to him, who seemed to be totally beside himself. For a long moment of stillness Thomas just stared at him, overwhelmed and dumbfounded.

‘What did you do to my old Manuel? Kidnapped him and then transformed into him or what? Just possessed him like what phoenix force did to Jean Grey?’ exclaimed Thomas, covering his mouth with his hand and quirking his eyebrows as though he had met Manuel for the first time, nonetheless quite delighted, for his eyes shined with mirth.

Manuel steadied himself before he replied, ‘I don’t see the reason why not live it up every once in a while,’ he panted, ‘I mean, come on, I’ve really had a tough week, an awfully tough one. I’ve worked day and night and that tyrant’s still whiny.’

At this Thomas regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Yeah… live it up.’ He murmured, circling his lanky arms around Manuel’s shoulders, on which his head rested placidly.

They left the stadium along with a seething mass of people after an hour or so. The way back was rather bumpy. The traffic jammed due to the blizzard and they probably moved only two inches forward after a heck of a long time. Out of sheer boredom, Manuel looked out to see several people brave the elements to get to the metro station. They were close to being knocked off by the fierce wind, even so, they beckoned to their companions who brought up the rear and hurried them into keeping up, though their voices, however resounding, were drowned in the squeaks of the winds.

But even against the howling winds, the rhythmic taps behind the closed windows were palpable. Manuel recognized the rhythm. He swivelled around to see Thomas, fingers tapping briskly against the panel, hum to himself in a huskily muted voice.

‘You can sing it out loud.’ Manuel chipped in, grinning.

Thomas blinked, eyes widened, ‘I’m a bad singer.’ He mumbled. The taps in rhythm with Stern des Südens stopped abruptly.

‘I thought you sang pretty well when you were singing along with Stephan Lehmann.’

‘And I thought you have the greatest ass in the whole universe.’ said Thomas quickly, ‘Admit it, we are all biased, but then, your ass is still the greatest.’

‘A heartfelt thanks for your recognition.’ Manuel rolled his eyes, nonetheless appeared to be cheerful, his fingers tapping playfully against the steering wheel to beat out a light tune which could only be heard by himself.

After twenty minutes or so it finally promised that the road was clear when the several cars huddling together in the middle of the road dispersed and started to trundle forward. The blizzard didn’t stop, but accompanied them all the way to where Thomas lived. The car slowly skidded to a halt.

‘Bad weather.’ breathed Manuel on the spur of the moment in the midst of the roaring storm, when they were both sitting stilly inside the car, peering through the thin mist gathering across the window. At this Thomas withdrew his hand from the handle and turned around to see Manuel’s prominent profile framed against the white mist in the back, his features dissolved into darkness, thus unreadable. At first glance he looked like a faceless statue, but with further look you could easily deduce that he was a live wire, seeing his Adam’s apple rolling up and down with each of his swallow.

‘And?’ Thomas prompted, casting a curious look at him.

‘I thought we could have had a drink tonight.’ He croaked, ‘But now the weather is like hell.’

Thomas surveyed him, musing on the train of events from the past week, ‘I assume you’ve thought about this long enough.’ said him with conviction. Manuel didn’t retort.

‘Stall the car and come with me.’ said Thomas a few seconds later, nipping him by the chin for a quick peck before he leaned forward with difficulty, struggling to open the driver’s door. A gust of chilling wind broke on his face and threw hail and snow at him. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he struck a posture of invitation, ‘please.’

Letting out a resigned chuckle, Manuel stalled the car as he was told and followed him obediently, plodding across the road blanketed by thick snow into the flats.

Thomas’ roommate Daniel was at home, watching the Grand Prix attentively. Hearing the door creak, he turned around to give each of them a curt greeting before hastily flicking his gaze back on the television, and then for the better of the night he just pretended that neither was around and chose to turn a blind eye to whatever they did. 

Thomas dragged Manuel through the sitting room to the kitchen. The place was kept neat and tidy, two sets of cutlery placed on the either end of the kitchen table and so did all the plates and cruets. In fact, almost everything was stowed apart.

‘You guys really have to keep everything stowed separately?’ asked Manuel as soon as Thomas closed the door behind him.

‘Well, it’s the best way to avoid trouble if you are sharing a flat with people. Daniel and I both agree on that.’ said Thomas unseeingly as he busied himself ferreting around the pantry, ‘What do you prefer for a drink? I’ve got brandy here, and a half bottle of gin. Oh, and there’s a carton of milk, a good choice if you prefer something healthy.’

Manuel shrugged, ‘Then let’s go with brandy.’

Thomas poured a cup for each of them and handed one to Manuel, who gingerly studied the translucent liquid glowing chestnut and gold. The glass was ice-cold to touch, and so was the liquid when it first moistened the tip of his tongue, sending chills down to his spine. But once it flowed over his throat, it set his insides aflame and made his blood boil.

 _And that’s just one sip,_ said Manuel to himself, putting the glass down on the kitchen table. A loud clink told him that Thomas did the same, but the difference was, his glass already drained empty. The young man leaned lazily against the countertop, studying him intently and didn’t speak until his eager stare was reciprocated, when their eyes met.

‘That expression alone tells me that there’s a storm going on there. Is it because of the alcohol?’ He said evenly, flicking Manuel’s forehead. The latter grimaced.

‘I don’t need alcohol to tell me what to do. But I do wonder… will you kick me out right on the spot for saying something stupid? Or rather… offended?’ murmured Manuel tentatively, moistening his lips in a fever of anxiety while his eyes fixed on the guy who was only an inch away from him and meanwhile studying him by means of a level stare.

‘Depends.’ replied Thomas after a good sizing-up, ‘But the likelihood is that I might make you sit through the whole match between Bayern and Schalke if I felt offended. I mean the one in which you guys lost 8-0. And we’ll see if you deserve a second or third replay, depending on to what extent does your remark offend me.’

‘Alright then.’ Manuel took in a deep breath, in a dither about the choice of words but ended up letting his instincts do the choice on behalf of himself instead and the next second, he felt his lips move, uncontrollably, ‘For starters, I don’t actually like Bayern.’

‘I’m offended. I should make you watch the replay of that game for eight times before I kick you out.’

‘Before this I probably haven’t watched more than five matches of Bayern throughout every whole season.’ Manuel continued, undisturbed.

‘You are dead. And your ass isn’t the greatest anymore. I’ll give that title to Serge Gnabry.’ Thomas threatened, though he didn’t appear at all annoyed.

‘The only reason I’d stand all ninety minutes to see the guys chasing around like a bunch of headless chicken is…’ he paused, averting his gaze elsewhere, ‘because you are there. You don’t know how infectious your passion can be. And, well, I know I’ve said this before but, I still think you sing pretty well. Have you ever considered bringing a megaphone to the arena? To warm up the audience, you know. I bet even Stephan Lehnmann is no match for you in this regard.’

After a long tedious blabbering, which was roughly patched together from disjointed thoughts scattered around every corner of his mind, Manuel’s eyes finally fell back on Thomas, across whose face different expressions chased each other. At last composure won the race while impatience came a close second.

‘And?’ he urged.

‘That’s it. I’ve said it all.’

Thomas glared at him. But when he opened his mouth, his voice was surprisingly smooth and calm. ‘You are a hermit crab, Manuel. You creep out of your shell every once in a while for kicks but retract back before you are even reciprocated. That’s not how it works.’ said him moodily, his eyes resting on Manuel’s face momentarily before he looked down to find the glass, still half-full, hidden behind Manuel’s fingers.

‘You don’t want it anymore?’ he pointed at the glass, but made his move before Manuel could even reply, ‘Oh, great, I’m really thirsty now.’ Turning a deaf ear to Manuel’s faltering, he took the glass and drained it in one go.

Having cleaned up the cups and placed them neatly on side of the kitchen table to join in the place setting, Thomas beckoned to Manuel to leave. The light in the sitting room was left on, yet there were no voices, and no sight of Daniel either. He was back in his own bedroom and in all likelihood sank into sleep long ago.

The last time Manuel had been in Thomas’ bedroom was probably a month ago, after the match between Bayern and Bremen. It was small, but warm and homely. The wall across the bed was adorned with a moderately large flag of Bayern, clustered around by some yellowing posters showing the moment when the players lifted the trophy.

Thomas started grumbling the instant the door creaked shut. ‘Guess what.’ He snorted, scrolling through something on his phone, ‘Löw is sacked. They just made it public.’ He announced in an authoritative air, staring at the screen for two more seconds before he tossed the phone away, which landed on a shapeless heap of clothes at the foot of the bed with a dull thud that sounded like a reply to his snort of displeasure. ‘Great,’ he tut-tutted, wrinkled his nose and snatched his laptop from the desk. Following a shrieking moan he flopped down on the bed, disgruntled and irritated, ‘I’d like to thank him for bringing nothing to the team in the past two years and meanwhile bringing me extra work. Hilarious. Why can’t they announce it on the working day?’

‘Well, that’s one way to say it. Maybe for them every day is working day, working to get thrashed, working to get themselves humiliated, working to make themselves a big joke and working to make headlines.’

Not before he finished heaping scorn on DFB did he realize that Thomas was regarding him with an appreciative look which he had seldom seen before. ‘What?’ prompted Manuel, cocking his eyebrow in confusion.

‘That one is hilarious.’ said Thomas sincerely, beaming at him, ‘And by the way, you look sassy when you are being sarcastic with people.’

Flattered, Manuel felt carried away when basked in his praise and did what people in their right minds would consider remotely close to being sassy – simpering.

The blizzard showed no sign of moderating, not even for a tiniest bit, as far as Manuel could see. The snow was breaking on the roof, letting out joyfully gentle rap which quite resembled the rapid clicks when Thomas’ fingers hit the keyboard. Looking out, Manuel could see nothing but a vague shadow on the window, misted and obscured by a thin crust of ice. He blinked, and the shadow blinked back at him. For a mere second a ghost of smile tugged the corner of his lips but before it had the chance to take an actual form, it vanished, as suddenly as it had appeared.

Manuel wiped the mist clean. Unfurling before his eyes was a patch of glowing white. The wind shrilled and wailed at the top of its voice like a thousand disciples mourned the loss of the leader and so powerful it was that people feared it might blew all the stars away from sky, which was as jet black as charcoal.

‘I don’t think the snow will stop anytime.’ Manuel blurted, turning around to face Thomas, who was half hidden behind the screen of the laptop. The briskly rhythmical taps on the keyboard stopped for a beat at his sudden utterance.

‘Relax. I won’t kick you out on a snowy day like this.’

Giggling, Manuel swivelled back to cast a thoughtful look into the distance, ‘But it’s a bit too early for such a heavy snow to fall upon us, don't you think? It’s only the start of December.’

In reply to his question Thomas made a funny noise, ‘That’s the appetizer for the long winter ahead of us.’ said him absentmindedly, his fingers not resting for a fraction of a second but busying themselves drumming on the keyboard, like a zealous dancer, dancing to the patter of snowflakes.

The street was now deep covered in snow, fluffy, whole and untouched, until a frail figure tumbled into sight, leaving an erratic track of footprints behind him, which looked like child’s scrawl on a clean sheet of paper.

Manuel couldn’t hold back an exclamation in awe at sight of this, ‘Oh look, there’s still a guy walking down the street. Down there, see it?’ he pointed at a non-existent black spot on the frost-crusted glass, moving to the right to make room for Thomas who threw the laptop right away to join him by the window, all for a relaxed pause, probably. ‘He must be made of iron. Just think about it… it must be minus ten and he’s out there, braving the elements…’

‘It’s Lucky Luke!’ Thomas cried in exhilaration, ‘Lucky Luke.’ He repeated, ‘It’s on his umbrella. Can’t you see it?’ he tapped the window impatiently, enunciating each word by means of explanation.

‘What is Lucky Luke?’

Throwing his arms in the air, Thomas surrendered and crawled back to bed, grunting, ‘First you said you’ve never liked Bayern, and now you tell me you know nothing about Lucky Luke?’ He shook his head sadly, repositioning the laptop on his laps, ‘Had it not been for my good heart, I’d throw you out given half a chance.’ 

Manuel knew too well not to take it to heart when Thomas played a petulant child. So he answered it with a smile of understanding and turned back, rather surprisingly, to find out that the guy was still down there, swaying in the wind. He looked tiny from above, and forlorn, with only his own frail shadow around, who could neither talk to him nor shield him from the icy wind.

It roused a feeling of familiarity at that specific moment. What crossed his mind was a street, long and dazzlingly illuminated, densely swarmed with cars coming and going and not far away from the lively stream of cars, shuffling alone on the deserted pavement was a tall, shadowy figure, huddled and slouched, like a lost dinghy, sailing into the direction where no one went. Manuel wondered if there was anyone who felt the same for him when spotting him lingering about in the darkness.

‘I guess he’s a loner.’ said Manuel sincerely.

‘Aren’t we all? I mean, at least in some respects.’ Thomas added as an afterthought. The light tune composed of taping on the keyboard continued.

‘Maybe.’ Manuel agreed, though he wasn’t even sure whether what he echoed with was an unwitting remark or not. But deep down a small voice told him that Thomas had a point, when he thought about the people around him, Daniel, and the guy holding a Lucky Luke umbrella, for instance, so accustomed to living on their own and at the same time so accustomed it had become for them that they’d rather sail along the setting course without turning the steering wheel maybe a tiniest bit, past and present, and for the many years to come. Even though they were all given chances to make it different. For Daniel? Maybe a few exchanges of words and having a drink together after work. As for that guy treading through snow? Probably a bigger umbrella.

Manuel’s eyes roved around the street once more, but there was no sight of that guy. Looking down from high, he saw nothing but vast white, suffused with dim yellow. His hot breath brushed against the cold glass and before long, the mist gathered, his own reflection reappearing. He stretched out his hand to feel for this friend whom he had known for more than twenty years and unsurprisingly, he found himself reciprocated with a chill.

Behind him suddenly came a cheerful whistle. The taping slowed down and after a raucous click the light little tune was brought to a close. Out of the corner of the eye he saw Thomas throw his laptop aside and with a long, heavy sigh, flop back on bed and remain motionless like a statue.

‘What time is it?’ Thomas blurted a moment later.

‘Past midnight, I guess.’ said Manuel briefly. Scanning the distance, he couldn’t find any spot of light, hence he suggested, ‘Time to switch off the lights, I believe? If you’ve done with all your work.’

Thomas snorted bleakly as an approval.

Pulling back his hand, Manuel saw a huge handprint was left on where his reflection was used to be, blurring its features. He walked straight away without paying it another look and turned off the lights. Following the crisp click of the switch the room was submerged in pitch black, the flag and decorative posters on the wall as well as that blurry face all vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The darkness deprived him of his vision, but he could still hear sharply. Tracing the ragged breathing, Manuel fumbled his way in the dark and gingerly crept up the bed, throwing himself on top of the young man and following the small voice in his head, leaning down for a fervent kiss. He pampered himself with Thomas’ hot flesh; his lips were hot, his breath was warm and so was his touch. All Manuel felt was a flush of warm excitement when Thomas’ hand brushed past the back of his neck. With him around even his unquenchable thirst for warmth was more or less satisfied. Itching for more, he held him tighter.

‘Your hands are cold.’ murmured Thomas in the middle of their feverishly kissing, wrapping Manuel’s ice-cold fingers with his own warm hand.

‘It’s all for a stupid experiment.’ said Manuel, snorting a laugh, ‘I wanted to know how cold the glass could be on a day like this.’

‘And what’s the result of your experiment?’

‘Cold as the heart of some callous guy who says that he’d make me watch the replay of the game where Schalke being thrashed by Bayern for eighth times.’ said Manuel in jest, fondly teasing a wisp of wet hair off his forehead. At this Thomas rolled his eyes, whispering ‘fuck off’ and biting Manuel’s bottom lip harder.

Slowly the blizzard subsided and the last time Manuel checked, with a fleeting glance out of window, it was only flurries of snow. But the wind was still shrieking. The voice was so nasty that for a long time Manuel just lay there, stationary and sleepless.

 _Exactly, that’s why I can’t fall asleep,_ Manuel said to himself, _It was all because of the noises._

For the next few minutes he kept repeating himself, while the gale cackled and knocked on the window, as though in this way his words would become truth as long as he had repeated enough, as though in this way his lying wide awake at half past three had nothing to do with a sensation of burning stuck to his sweaty skin, a feeling of blood racing in his every vein and a rush of restrained ecstasy carried by these thick, scarlet fluids.

The wind managed to penetrate into the room through a narrow chink which might be left unattended when Thomas closed the window. It lifted up the bristles around his temple and felt like ice when it brushed against his skin. But he didn’t feel cold. Not at all. Even with his bare chest left fully exposed to the cold air.

 _Or maybe not fully exposed._ Glancing down, he saw Thomas almost take half of his body as his bed. The sleeping boy nestled against him, his head resting on his heaving chest and his curly hair rubbing against Manuel’s chin in rhythm to his every shallow purring, which made Manuel feel itchy. Nonetheless he didn’t take any action, but allowing it to carry on, all because it tickled his fancy.

 _Itchy,_ said him inwardly, _but comfortably warm._

Through the blur of Thomas’ bushy hair, Manuel saw the vague, gawky-looking shadow of his own hand, draping over the young man’s shoulder. It had once been gripped by the ice-cold reflection of his own, bitten and then healed by the warm touch and now it was as warm as toast. The impulse came out of nowhere and in the wake of an onrush of passion he lowered his chin, sliding a peck at Thomas’ hair and burying his whole face in his soft, olive-flavoured hair, allowing it to tickle his cheeks.

Fully immersed and fascinated, he didn’t see it coming when Thomas suddenly woke up with a start and consequently, his head went slap into Manuel’s nose. Heedless of the pain, for a second Manuel feared it was he who alerted him, all due to that reckless kiss. The apology was about to slip off his tongue when he came to realize that it was actually the vibration of the phone that resulted in the incident.

‘What does it say?’ asked Thomas sleepily in a muffled voice, not making any move.

‘Nothing. Just junk mail.’ said Manuel briefly after a quick glimpse at the luminous screen. Thomas let out a sigh of relief.

‘Thank goodness.’ He murmured, wriggling around a bit so as to adjust to the finest position to sleep more comfortably. ‘I thought my boss rang me for some newly-discovered dark secrets at DFB, like, Löw and Bierhoff were actually gay lovers.

‘DFB is bad enough. Stop making it worse.’

‘You can’t stop me.’

Breathing a chuckle, Manuel decided to bring this meaningless argument to a close with a kiss on his forehead. Drowsy silence reigned this room once more. The snow was slowly clearing while the moon finally managed to poke its head out of the thick clouds and cast the silver glow through window. First it was only a hairline of shimmer crouching on the floor, and then as time ticked by it extended and rose. Manuel stared at it silently, watched it stretching its body up to the hilt until it eventually touched the ceiling.

 _Another twenty minutes elapsed,_ thought Manuel, at last inclined to drowsiness. Though hardly had he closed his eyes when a low mutter roused him from sleepiness.

‘You are awake all this time?’

‘How do you know?’

‘You heart’s beating like a pile driver on full capacity.’

Manuel thought about this for a second, picturing it in his mind, ‘That doesn’t look good.’

‘Indeed.’ Thomas agreed, sliding his hand beneath the back of Manuel’s neck. It was only then that Manuel noticed that, during their conversation, the patch of moonlight clambered another few inches up when he was not looking. And at the same time he felt Thomas’ heart drumming vigorously against his bare chest – or is that actually his own heart? He couldn’t tell.

‘I’m tired.’ slurred Thomas a moment later, turning his face to avoid being exposed in the moonlight cast from above.

‘Sleep.’ Manuel whispered softly, putting his big hand over Thomas’ head to shade his face against the moonlight whilst stroking his hair in a tender way that he remembered his mom used to do when he was little. It worked like a charm every time he couldn't fall asleep.

Soon the heartbeat slowed. It no longer felt like a hard knock, but a gentle tap, once every second, like a ticking clock. Manuel knew he was asleep. And now his own heartbeat was palpable since they beat to different rhythms. It was quicker, but slowly it throttled back with every breath he took.

The next morning he woke up to an eye-searing white spreading across the wall opposite him which could only indicate how every inch of this city was invaded by the first snow of the season. That was marked as the first thing that came to him and the second was that he was carefully tucked. He felt warm, but the guy, whose hot flesh he desired, was not here.

Turning over, Manuel buried his face deeper in the fluffy pillow as though he were deep in a kiss, to let that warm smell left from last night linger a little bit longer, and more importantly to be caressed once more by that intoxicating aroma of olive.

He left the warm cuddle of the pillow when he heard the door to the house bang shut, followed by rapturous footsteps. A second later the wooden door to the bedroom creaked and was swung open, exposing an elated Thomas. He was pale with cold, nonetheless he looked burnt with vitality. Clearly a good night’s sleep did him right as rain.

‘I bought chocolate!’ he yelled happily the instant he closed the door behind him, dropped a bag on the desk and started unfurling the scarf. ‘And I’ve got a jar of Nutella. I’m thinking maybe we can make some chocolate cake.’

‘You mean, that kind of cake for consumption, not for experiment right?’ said Manuel jokingly, propping himself up on the elbow as he looked at the young man unbuttoning his coat.

‘We can do both.’ said Thomas quickly, sticking out his tongue at him. With a mischievous smirk he slipped under the duvet, having the faintest guilt of giving another guy chill shivers when his cold skin touched his warm flesh. ‘You ready to get up?’ he breathed by Manuel’s ear, voice muffled, ‘Or you wanna sleep for another five minutes?’

‘Dunno.’ Manuel drawled, ‘Part of my brain says I’d really wish for another hour of sleep but the other part says that I’d regret not getting my ass off the bed when you are clinging to me with that puppy face.’

Thomas cracked a beaming smile, running his fingers through Manuel’s short hair, toying with the strands playfully and it ended up looking as though it had been ruffled up by a strong gale. Not until he had enough fun did he call it quits.

‘I want to make chocolate cake.’ mumbled Thomas pleadingly, gazing down at him with his brightly-gleaming eyes in which Manuel could see a spark of expectation – the same was often seen when a child was pestering their parents for a fancy gift for Christmas. It worked for the parents every time. And it worked for Manuel the same way.

‘Well then, let’s make chocolate cake.’ said him briskly, giving Thomas a gentle pat on the butt, ‘But first you gotta get your ass off me so that I can get my shirt.’

‘Trust me, you look better naked.’ Thomas giggled, nonetheless he acted a compliant child this time and hauled himself up after leaving a loving peck on Manuel’s plump cheek. With the bag full of tinkling jars and slabs of chocolate in the arms he tripped away and into the kitchen, starting to make preparations.

The chocolate cake tasted nice. Superb, to be fair. The beautiful combination of spongy texture and hot melted chocolate brought a flush of blissful satisfaction. But it was still no match for the euphoria he felt with every fibre of his being when Thomas’s soft lips tenderly brushed past his.

By the time he came down to the street, the lamplights loomed over from afar, framed by the livid-grey background and looking like a den occupied by a herd of nocturnal animals, whose eyes always shined evilly in the dark. He had to go through their nest all alone to get home, and at the thought of this he felt a cold shiver running down his spine. With one last vigilant look Manuel averted his gaze, taking in a deep breath of bitingly-cold air and through the haze breathed out from his own nostrils he found himself facing a forlorn street, snow-blanketed and empty. This was a street branching off from one of the main roads of the city and now it looked desolated and a rotten artery.

Manuel’s eyes traced upwards to that small patch of orange light glowing warmly on the top floor, a formality he rigidly followed every time before he said goodbye to this place – ‘one last look and then off you went’. But he didn’t want to leave, especially not this time. He regretted the second he strode over the doorway and now he wished he could find a good excuse to turn back and stay there a bit longer. However, since there was no proper excuse sprang to his mind, he dropped this idea and hopped into the car, steering it home.

The winter break of the season was setting in in the wake of the first snow. A month long, during which the stadium would be closed and the players would be all sent home to enjoy the time with their family. To put it plainly, there would be no match. Manuel felt it kinda strange when he had already got into the habit of driving to the arena to see the match once a week ever since the start of the season. It was like an inharmonious rest in the middle of a rousing symphony.

He hadn’t asked if Thomas had any plan for the break, but his bet was on a vacation with family, on a lovely island where beach and sunshine beckoned. The scene where the sea and the sunset joined in a golden glow far in the distance kept preying on his mind when he, manoeuvring the car to thread through the streams of traffic, tried to focus on the icy road ahead.

The stadium was packed out as always. Here 75,000 hearts drummed in the same throbbing rhythm. 75,000 fans chanted and laughed through the same mouth, a terrifically huge one. And they shared the same intake of deep breath when their team missed a good chance. Though in all fairness, Thomas probably took the most of it.

Even though the last two hours he stood and shouted throughout, on the way back home Thomas had no intention of giving himself a rest but still abuzz with enthusiasm, and noisier than ever, which, from what Manuel could see, was mainly because Bayern swept to victory in their last match of this year. There was a moment or two when Manuel was on the verge of bringing up the subject of the plan for winter break, however every time he ended up making it a cough or a lick at his dry lips. He argued internally that it would be rude to interrupt people when they were in the middle of speaking and that was why he’d rather keep quiet. Because he didn’t want to dampen Thomas’ spirits.

_Or was it really that so?_

That towering shadow loomed into view before Manuel even realized. It felt much quicker this time, as though in the blink of an eye they were teleported here. Thomas was still chirping nonstop, about something he saw in the stadium but none of what he said actually registered in Manuel’s brain. Regarding him intently, Manuel kept telling himself merely looking at him wouldn’t bring anything further.

The first syllable had hardly escaped his lips when Thomas beat him to the question he had been mulling over all along. ‘Have you got any plan for the break?’ asked him, casting an inquisitive look at Manuel. The latter quirked his eyebrows with a start, taken aback and then shook his head. Now it was Thomas’ turn to act flabbergasted.

‘I thought you’d go back to Gelsenkirchen for Christmas!’ he yelled, gaping at him.

‘My parents will fly to California to meet up with my brother and I don't really fancy the idea of spending one third of my hard-earned holiday on flight so…’ Manuel shrugged, ‘I’m left alone here.’

Thomas wrinkled his nose to make a funny face, ‘That’s a bit sad.’ He murmured. Manuel was surprised to find out that he actually looked sorry for him, though almost all at once his face was again radiant with excitement when, undoubtedly, a fabulous idea just crossed his mind. ‘Hey! You wanna come to my house for Christmas? I mean, my parents’ house. You will be more than welcomed.’

Manuel thought maybe he had just been hit by pot luck. There was a small voice singing a song of triumph as he stifled the urge to shout ‘yes’ in his face. In the end, ‘I’m more than glad to come’ was all his trembling lips could give.

‘Cool. Then pick me up here on 23rd, at ten o’clock–’

Manuel nodded, making a mental note of that.

‘The traffic might be jammed so better early than late… you’ve got something in mind?’ asked Thomas when he caught a glimpse of the eager flare sparkling in Manuel’s eyes. Manuel studied his face pensively, bit his lips, wrung his hands under the panel where all was shaded dark and at long last chose to lie.

‘No.’

‘Well then, remember to pick me up at the appointed time. Don’t sleep late.’ He added, darting a warning look at Manuel, who returned with a smile.

He pulled the handle, swung the door open and, braving the snow, he walked towards the entrance of the flats in brisk trots, unaware to the fact that Manuel’s eyes had followed him all the way there.

Manuel didn’t rush to leave. Turning his gaze, he looked into the street receded away into mist, thinking about the question he failed to ask. But on second thought it was a stupid question so with hindsight, Manuel was glad he didn’t let it slip. Maybe he’d seal it inside ever after.

 _It was too quiet,_ thought Manuel, furrowing his forehead in confusion. _Eerily quiet._ And almost immediately Manuel realized what resulted in this peculiar stillness. He hadn’t heard those sounds, the one when the door creaked open and the other followed when it swung shut.

Looking out through window, he saw Thomas still hovering outside the entrance. Curious, Manuel unfastened the seat belt, shut off the engine and pushed the door open. A blast of chill almost numbed him when his feet touched the cold, hard ground. Turning up the collar and folding his arms against winds, Manuel wobbled in the direction of Thomas.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, wasting no words.

Thomas gave vent to a resigned sigh, ‘I forgot my key. And Daniel’s not answering my call.’

For a split second numerous of thoughts flashed through Manuel’s head as he gazed down at the snowflakes hidden in Thomas’ ruffled hair but in the end there was only one left, beating everyone else to win the battle.

‘You can spend a night at my place.’ He suggested, trying not to sound too studiously. But maybe it only ran counter to his intention by the look of Thomas, who appeared to be quite amused. He peered at the big guy for long enough until that significant look gave way to a bright smile.

‘Let’s go, then.’ said him briskly, tripping off with a spring in his step, with snow crunching under his feet.

Normally forty minutes was all it took to drive from Thomas’ to his own flat but today it only used about half an hour. When he came down to the ground, Manuel felt his leg muscle burnt with ache so the contact with the frosty air actually did him soothing. Ahead of him was Thomas, looking around with amused interest even though, from what Manuel could tell, there wasn’t any actual difference from any other street or district, since everywhere looked exactly the same on a winter night after snow. All those features that distinguished one from the other, even if there had been, were blurred and erased by the vast white sheet draped over the city.

‘Is that a flag of TSV?’

Thomas’ voice intruded on his thoughts. He didn’t need to actually look at it to know what Thomas was talking about. ‘Yeah. The couple living there were both TSV fans.’ said Manuel quickly, while busying himself looking for the right key to the entrance of the building, ‘The funny thing is, the guys left Munich for Paris just two days before the champions league final. All because they couldn’t stand the results of Bayern winning the Henkelpott.’

‘Ugh, and you say I’m a crazy shit when it comes to football.’ Thomas muttered.

‘I didn’t mean criticism when I said that.’ said Manuel in his own defence.

After lengthy fumbling he finally found the right key, hastened to tuck it in and turned it. The door cracked open. The damp corridor reeked of fungi, but Manuel was already used to it. He called it the smell of winter, the one intrinsic to a long night when one sat alone by the frosty window. And quite inexplicably, the smell brought back that question plaguing his mind moments ago. He thought it had been carefully sealed but somehow it slipped free. Biting the inside of his cheeks nervously, Manuel shot a furtive look over his shoulder, only to see the young man, aglow with enthusiasm, still glance around with his characteristic child-like curiosity.

Thomas’ excitement was at its peak once they were behind the door of Manuel’s flat. Everything seemed new to him, from the old Schalke jersey to the album of Take That, but what truly struck him as astounding was the teddy bear sat clustered by the cushions on the sofa.

‘It’s a Schalke teddy!’ he exclaimed, scooping the fluffy bear in his arms, ‘Is this how you make of yourself? A teddy bear in a Schalke jersey?’

‘A what?’ asked Manuel, cocking his eyebrows and nonplussed.

‘Think about it. This might be your doppelgänger in another universe.’

‘Um, I haven’t really thought about that.’ said Manuel frankly, ‘My mom gave it to me as a birthday gift years ago and when I moved here I brought it along. Thought it would be a good company.’

‘Well, it won’t be so happy to see you change into a Bayern kit for every home game.’ Thomas sighed, as though pitying for the inanimate toy. He gave it a gentle pat on the back and, with it nestled in his arms in a way the baby was held by his parents, he started sauntering around like a tourist who was first to the gallery, peering around the length and breadth of the rooms, stopped at almost everything as long as it had its own entity and made comments on them.

‘You are a fan of The Lord of the Rings?’ asked Thomas from behind the shelf, where Manuel stored all the DVDs he bought from amazon.

‘Not exactly. I just thought it’s a really good film. I bought it for collection.’ said Manuel unseeingly. He was distracted by the vibration deep down in his pocket. The bring glare on the screen made him dizzy, and so did the mail which just poked up a second before. Manuel heaved a sigh, put the phone back and eyes up, just in time to see Thomas emerge from behind the shelf, shuffling along and yawning loudly.

‘I gotta go get some sleep.’ He slurred, heading straight towards the bedroom with Manuel in his train.

His room, unlike Thomas’, was moderately big, spacious and airy. Nine years of living didn’t bring too many colours here. The wall was dully whitewashed; the wooden floor was plain hazel. Apart from these everything was painted grey, of different shades though.

After kicking off the clothes, Thomas threw himself on the bed following a moaning screech from the mattress and sat against the headboard, slipping his lanky legs under the duvet. Phone produced, he started sliding his fingers along the screen, homing in on something which Manuel had absolutely no idea what it was.

‘I thought you are going to sleep?’ asked Manuel out of curiosity, as he slid the wardrobe door open, squatted down and held out his hand fumbling in the dark.

‘Not after I make this call.’ said him quickly. He put the phone closely to his ear once it beeped twice. His eyes twinkled when the first sound came. ‘Hi, mom. I’m not interrupting you right? No, I just feared you might be asleep–’

Manuel swivelled around slightly to peer over his shoulder. Out of the corner of the eye he saw Thomas, tickled pink, beaming at the dully whitewashed wall void of ornament while he absentmindedly caressed the creases on the covers. His voice was cheerfully high, especially when they talked about an anecdote involving someone, whom Manuel assumed was Thomas’ father. Manuel heard Mrs. Müller cackled shrilly on the other side.

‘–that’s crazy.’ Thomas giggled, wiping off the tears of laughter. ‘I promise I won’t bring it up in his face after I come back.’

‘Speaking of this,’ Mrs. Müller’s fractured voice brought the subject of their conversation down in another direction, ‘when will you come back?’

‘23rd. I’ll be there at midday, probably, as long as there’s no traffic jam. And mom,’ he paused, as though for emphasis, ‘I will bring someone along so, remember to prepare for another set of cutlery. And tell dad–’

‘Is that a friend?’ Manuel heard Mrs. Müller query. For an instant Manuel’s hands came to a complete standstill. He waited, but Thomas hesitated. And by that second of hesitation he had already given an answer to the question that haunted Manuel for the whole night.

‘You will know when you see him.’ said him at long last.

After snatches of chit-chat they said goodbye. The room was reigned by quiet once more, save some whispering rustles, when Manuel was back on rummaging through the bottom of the wardrobe.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Nothing, just–’ he broke off in mid-sentence so that he could concentrate on the work at hand, struggling to haul a pillow and a blanket out from under a pile of folded jumpers. He carried them in his arms, wobbled to the door and ready to leave, but was called back by the voice behind him at the last minute.

‘Where are you going?’ mumbled Thomas, his forehead furrowed with bemusement.

‘Oh, I’ve got some unfinished business. Emergency, actually, at least that’s what my boss used in the mail so… I think I better make do with this on the sofa.’ said him by means of explanation.

Thomas looked straight at him. In the dim light his face was unreadable. But that dead stare reminded him of those cats, hair all bristled and fuming with anger. Yet people still called them sweetie even though they looked they could kill and the fact was that they definitely could kill.

‘It’ll be cold.’ said him matter-of-factly.

‘It’s alright. The laptop will warm me up, right? As long as I keep it functioning for long enough.’ said Manuel in jest. But Thomas didn't laugh. He just stared at him with a deadpanned face.

Grinning as light dawned on him, careful not to tumble, with his arms full Manuel staggered back to the bedside, bent over, giving Thomas’ bottom lip a gently affectionate nip and it lasted longer than he intended.

‘Good night.’ Manuel breathed, leaving a quick peck on his forehead before he wobbled out and closed the door behind himself.

Tucked up snug in the blanket and nestling against the cushions, Manuel made a comfortably soft lair for himself on the sofa where allowed him to embark on his work in a way as luxuriantly as he could. The laptop sat on his laps, projecting blinding beams. The dazzlingly fluorescent screen looked like an abyss in the dark background, where numerous of ghastly demons lay hidden, awaiting to pull someone through. _It’s nasty,_ murmured Manuel inwardly, rubbing his throbbing temple and throwing his head backwards. Eyes closed to immerse himself in the cool darkness for a brief pause. He feared one more second of staring would cost all his vitality. That fathomless abyss, apart from dragging people down, looked as though it were capable of sucking their souls out of them.

 _Cells? Aren’t we? Contracted to the dance to the rhythm of this one huge thumping heart._ Thomas’ voice rang somewhere in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head miserably, Manuel screwed his eyes open, sat a bit upright and carried on with his work. Before long he heard a crisp click, and noticed that the shaft of thin light penetrating through the chink of the door to the bedroom died in its wake.

It was around three o’clock when he finally saw the work through to the finish. Exhaling a sigh of relief, he slammed the laptop shut and rolled under the blanket before he swigged down the remnant in the coffee mug and saw to it that the lock was secured. The room was submerged in stilly black. But there were still fluorescent glitters flashing here and there. Not that he saw them with his eyes though. They invaded his head. The wreckage of a long exhausting night.

He couldn’t fall asleep. Manuel didn’t know if it was due to the effects of a whole mug of coffee or the coldness seeping into the skin, to the deep of the bones. Either way he lay wide awake for another forty minutes or so, his temples still throbbing and his eyes stinging with searing pain. After a thoughtful moment, he decided that he might need something warmer, if he wished not to wake up to a bad cold in the morning. Gingerly, he threw back the blanket and sprang to his feet, trying not to make any sound, sidled into his bedroom, where was took up by deathly stillness.

Manuel slid the wardrobe open, crouched down and again started rummaging around, in an attempt to feel out which was what he needed. Different textures came and went through his fingers. But none was ideal to his touch. While he was halfway through searching, a throaty voice sounded behind him,

‘I told you it’d be cold.’

Startling, Manuel turned around in such an abrupt manner that he lost his footing and fell straight into the wardrobe, colliding with its back. Taking in a few rasping, quick breaths, Manuel blinked, and saw the smooth curve contour arch over the bed.

‘It’s past three o’clock.’ Manuel breathed after he was once again cool and collected.

Thomas tut-tutted, ‘I can’t fall asleep without something to hold in my arms.’

‘I have another pillow here. It’s right here in the bottom–’

‘I mean you, idiot.’ said Thomas impatiently.

At his words Manuel’s breathing quickened. Blood soared to the top of his head and his muscles tensed. He could feel Thomas’ eyes on him, regarding and piercing through his skin to his innermost. He held his gaze, contemplating, and slowly he hauled himself up to his feet, crawled up on bed and lied down next to Thomas following a rustle. He felt instantly hugged by reassuring warmth when the young man’s warm flesh pressed against his cold skin, his lanky arms circling around his chest from behind. He kissed his nape and buried his face in his ruffled dirty-blonde hair. Thomas’ heart was thumping against his hunched back, taut and heavy like a stomp on the wooden floor from a booted foot, and in sync with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Harmoniously synchronized.

‘I love you.’ a hushed whisper found its way out of Manuel’s wet lips.

Thomas didn’t say anything. But he reciprocated with clutching tighter at his broad chest. And for Manuel that was enough said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This has nothing to do with this fic but I do wonder (it came to me when I wrote the last passages) if the laptop is originally designed to be set on your laps for convenience when working at home and that's why it got this name 'laptop'?


End file.
